Tales of Pyrmont Road & Other Stories

A Piece of Lace
by MaryAnn Brooks

My sister Vi is very house proud and for her to leave her kitchen the way I found it that morning, with breakfast dishes still on the table, scummy tea still in the pot and the range fire almost out, meant only one thing; something was seriously wrong.

My first instinct was to beat a hasty retreat and pretend I wasn’t there. That way She’d never know I’d seen it; the mess, I’mean. But before I could make up my mind what to do, she appeared in the scullery doorway.

Whatever happened? I said. I’mean, that woman is as fussy about her appearance as she is about her house but today she looked like something the cat dragged in. Backwards.

“August Bank Holiday happened, that’s what.” she managed to gasp before She’d disappeared into the scullery and began to make noises I recognized but would rather not describe.

“But that was more than two months ago,” I followed as far as the scullery door, “and you don’t stay sick from too many jellied eels for that long. It has to be something else that – oh my,” the penny dropped as she leaned over the sink again, “you don t mean? You? Really!!” Vi managed a slight nod of the head before she went back to bringing up the rest of her breakfast.

Conversation at this point would have been a waste of time so I set about cleaning up. Just the kitchen, mind you. She could see to the scullery herself. Later.

I’managed to coax some life back into the fire, then while the kettle was coming to the boil, I cleaned out the tea pot and found some more cups and saucers. No one was going to get near that scullery sink for a while so I just stacked the dirty dishes at one end of the kitchen table.
By the time Vi came back into the kitchen with a clean face and her hair more or less tidy, I had the tea made and the fire beginning to burn up nicely.

I knew Vi kept digestive biscuits somewhere so I’dug around until I found them; very good for a queasy stomach are digestives. I opened the tin and put some on a plate, then poured the tea, remembering to keep the milk and sugar down a bit; for Vi anyway.

The tea and the two biscuits she managed to eat seemed to help and soon she was looking more like her old self. Sounding like it too; not much keeps my sister down.

“We’d planned not to have any more; not for a while anyway” she explained, “but what with just moving in and the Bank Holiday: you remember what a good time we all had?”

I nodded.

“Well”, there was a brief pause, “we kind of forgot all about the you know what.” There was another pause, followed by a significant sniff.

We, me and Fred, had never bothered with anything like that because We didn’t believe in it: and anyway, we’d been trying to start a family. I did though, know what she was talking about.

I’m Doris by the way and I live at number seventeen with my husband Fred.

Vi, you heard me talk about her, lives at number eleven with her husband Bill.

They have two children; well they did until now.

We have – just us. And mum of course, who finally moved back as I said she would.

“No use crying over spilt milk,” I said, which got me a scowl. But at least It stopped the flood; Vi really knows how to cry when She’s in the mood.

“So,” I proffered the pot, I might as well continue being mother, “when is the baby due?”
“April,” she nodded yes to a top up so I obliged.

“An Easter baby maybe,” I smiled, “that will be nice. And you’ll only be fat through the cold months when it won’t show so much.” Which wasn’t what she wanted to hear right now because she promptly went in to a tizzy about She’d have to buy all sorts of things for the baby and she and Bill had saved so hard for the down payment on number eleven, they couldn’t afford any extra expense right now. Then there was Margaret who mightn’t be happy at having to share her room. Or Terence his, whichever. And, “she finished up, “we got rid of the crib because it was taking up room and I’don t know anyone around here who might have one to lend.”

I did though, it was me.

Bought too soon and never used, I’d not been able to bring myself to get rid of our crib or even suggest Fred do anything about it. So We’d put it in the attic; out of sight though never out of mind. For a few moments I allowed myself to feel what I’d always refused to allow myself to feel, then I pulled myself together. It wasn’t the end of the world, after all, and when Vi was finished with it, I could always take it back. Because. Well you never know.

“Of course you do,” I said brightly, “There s a perfectly good crib up in our attic. I’ll have Fred get it down this weekend. And,” I chattered on as much to give myself time to get over the fact I was giving our crib away as to stop Vi from protesting for the same reason, “once the word gets around, everyone will start knitting and you’ll have all you need in no time.”

We spent the next half hour talking of this and that and I remembered to tell her that mum had a letter from gran this morning.

“Usual complaints?” Vi grinned which made me feel better to see she was getting back to her old self.

“Wasn’t really a letter,” I said, “just a note folded round a newspaper cutting that announced some society couple were expecting their first child in the spring.”

“Since when did gran care about what society did?” Vi looked surprised.

“I wondered that too,” I answered, which was true because that was how I’d felt at the time.
“Was mum surprised?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t call it surprised but she acted very interested. I’ll find out more about it when I go back. And It’s alright to tell her? About you, I’mean?”

“Well It’s not going to go away, is it, so you might as well.”

So I left Vi to finish the cleaning up and walked back along the street to number seventeen.

When I told mum about Vi, she looked thoughtful for a minute then hurried off to write a letter to gran that I had to make sure got the afternoon post. Three days later another letter arrived for mum: gran was coming to stay for a few days.

Now a gran visit demands certain preparations.

First of all, Fred has to fetch Vi s bed chair from number eleven and set it up in mum s room as there s no room in there for two beds. This does make her room a bit cramped but that’s how it has to be as I’m not about to let gran do stairs. She’s well enough but you never know.

Then he has to make sure the coal is kept raked forward so It’s easier for me to fill the coal scuttle. Keep a good fire going in mum s room and gran spends more time in there which suits me nicely.

Suits Fred as well. He’s very understanding but a little bit of gran goes a long way.

Who’s gran? Well She’s our mum’s mum which makes her me and Vi s gran. She lives over the other side of London in a bed sit that’s not the best of places but she won’t be told where to live. Or who to live with.

We’d expected her to arrive about dinner time but she rattled the front door knocker while me and Vi and mum were still having our mid morning tea and biscuits. So, rather than make fresh, I just added another spoonful of Green Label to the pot and topped it up with boiling water. I also opened the tin of special creams I bought for the occasion.

Vi stayed long enough to sample a biscuit from the tin of special creams, then took off home. She’d come back later for a gossip but right now she had to get the kid’s dinner on the table. She was hardly out of the house when gran put her cup down and stood up.

“We got things to do as well,” She said, then she beckoned to mum and the two of them went off to their room leaving me with nearly a full pot of tea that I’d have to throw away, and an almost untouched tin of biscuits that weren’t anything like the advertisement said they were. But Fred wasn’t picky about biscuits and he’d soon polish them off.

We hardly saw anything of either mum or gran for three days and Fred asked me on the second evening, wasn’t I curious what they were up to?

“Of course I’m curious,” I looked up from my knitting, “but I’m not going to give gran the satisfaction of knowing it. And I’don t know about you but I’m rather enjoying her being here and not being here, if you know what I’mean?

Fred nodded and went back to reading his paper and I went back to my knitting. We re a quiet pair who always enjoy our evenings together. Some might think us old fashioned but that’s the way we like it.

It was Sunday and Fred had the front room fire going early so it would be nice and comfortable for our afternoon sit down. It’s a bit extravagant having another fire on in the house but a Sunday fire is what we’ve always had and a Sunday fire is what we always will have. “What’s nice is we can afford it,” said Fred, pleased with his promotion and a raise in pay.

Uncle Irwin was going to retire next year and Fred would then run the wood shop over in Barnes. Uncle Irwin would still own the business but “you never know,” Fred confided, “what with him not having anyone else to leave it to.” Which is as far as It’s wise to think. But we have hopes.

Mum and gran joined us beside the front room fire about half past three which just happened to be tea time. Fred, being the gentleman he is, offered his armchair and gran being who she was, parked herself in it with barely a nod for a thank you: the rest of us gathered round the dining table where I’d set out the Sunday tea things.

It was a pretty set, part of an expensive one I got cheap at the sales because both the teapot and the sugar bowl were missing. I did though find a very nice plain colored teapot with matching sugar bowl, milk jug and a dish for the strainer and it looks right at home with the expensive stuff.

We talked about this and that and it was Fred who finally asked gran what was it that was so important we hardly saw her on this visit?

Gran nodded to mum who opened the package on her lap and held up, with a bit of a flourish I should add, a baby’s christening gown.

It was pretty enough with all that lace in the skirt, but a christening gown?

“That all you been doing for four days?” I began and might have said a lot more but Fred shushed me.

“I know a bit about old stuff,” he was looking hard at the gown, “because I read quite a bit about antique designs and things; for the business, you know.

I’ve seen lace described and that,” he pointed to the gown, “is very old. Could also be very valuable,” he looked hard at gran.

“It is very old,” she gave Fred a rare smile, “and very valuable. It’s Honiton lace.”

“Mind telling us how you came by it?” I’meant the lace but gran thought I’meant the gown.
“Oh, we didn’t come by it, we made it, didn’t we?” gran nodded to mum who nodded back.

“Then do you mind telling us how you came by that piece of lace you made it out of?” I was beginning to get a bit annoyed with gran and I probably emphasized my words more that I should but she really was going round the houses instead of getting to the point.

“Give me another piece of cake and I might,” gran held out her plate.

Now I know and she knows I know that she’s not supposed to eat a lot of rich stuff but if I refused then she’s just as likely to shut up and that ll be that. So I gave her an extra piece of cake that I knew would give her indigestion later on but that’s her fault.

She began.

“You all know I was in service so I won’t go into that except to say this place wasn’t too bad, especially since I was now working above stairs.

Emberly Court was a right miserable looking pile of rocks with damp everywhere but our rooms up in the attic were dry enough. And the food was good.

Anyway, It was spring of 1873, I remember that because I’d just turned sixteen, and miss Charlotte, the eldest daughter, was getting married.

The place was in an uproar with furniture being moved, carpets being rolled up for the dancing and potted plants being delivered by the dozen. The caterers, dozens of them, kept getting in everybody s way and the language!! Made your ears curl. And to make things worse, they had the great chandelier down for cleaning. It really was a mess.

It was just as busy up in the nursery though there the language was much better. Silk, satin, fine lawn and miles of lace all over the big table and near a dozen sewing women finishing up miss Charlotte s trousseau. And over in the corner, on a special stand was the wedding veil that miss Charlotte was going to wear.

“Honiton lace it was, “gran emphasized the H, “with so much embroidery where it lay on the floor, you know, the bit that trails along behind; well that bit was just solid flowers.
Then two of the servants got ill. Well, two out of forty some don t mean much, except one was miss Charlotte’s personal maid. And when she died, it got out, she’d had typhoid.

Then miss Charlotte came down with it and then lady Sarah; it was terrible.

We all prayed they would get better, but they didn’t. Miss Charlotte died on the Tuesday and Lady Sarah died on the Friday.

Sir John went all quiet and funny looking when he heard the news: I got this from my friend Sally who was seeing one of the footmen who was there at the time. Anyway, he, Sir John, wouldn’t go to bed and took to stalking about the house which scared the living daylights out of us girls I can tell you. Got to where we daren’t go round a corner without having a good look first. As soon as the funeral was over, he had the house closed up and he left, vowing never to return.

It wasn’t till after he’d gone we found out he’d left instructions that all his wife s things and all young Charlotte s clothes were to be cleared out and destroyed.

What a waste? But orders is orders. Though when a couple of petticoats didn’t make it to the furnace out in the old greenhouse, and a few lawn handkerchiefs kind of slipped into a pocket, and a nice wool shawl kind of fell off the barrow, nobody noticed.

I was preparing to leave for London with miss Emily, Sir John’s youngest daughter, and I went up to the nursery to find a toy she wanted to take with her. Poor little thing was only six years old and who could refuse her another favorite toy even if the nursery was three floors up and on the other side of the house.

Anyway, I was feeling quite important as I’d been chosen to travel with nanny who was to be in charge of her from now on and so I didn’t mind. Which is why I didn’t bother to knock before entering the nursery; it would be empty, anyway.

But it wasn’t.

There was nanny with that lovely Honiton lace wedding veil that We’d been forbidden to touch on pain of dismissal, and she was actually cutting great pieces out of it.

She looked up a bit startled like when the door opened but when she saw it was only me, she relaxed.

“Here,” she indicated the veil, “hold it still while I cut.”
I was so surprised I couldn’t speak, but I did as I was told and held it still while she cut, first this piece and then that. She seemed to know what she was doing, but cutting up something as valuable as that? I dunno. Finally, I found my voice.

“If I might be so bold as to ask,” I was kind of feeling my words, “what are you doing?”

“Saving a piece of something for little Emily, that’s what I’m doing,” nanny was clearly upset, though it didn’t sound like she was upset at me so I didn’t get too worried. “See what that is?” she indicated a drawing on the end of the table.

“Looks like a christening gown?”

“Right. And I’m going to make one out of this lace. Sir John might have forgotten he still has a daughter but I haven t. When she grows up and makes a good marriage, which I’m sure she will, she ll have it for her babies. It might even become a family tradition. At the least it will remind her she once had a sister. And a mother.”

“What about all that?” I pointed to the remains of the veil.

“Fancy it do you?” nanny looked up and smiled.

“A girl can dream can’t she?” I answered right back, I was feeling a bit brave.

“Of course she can,” nanny smiled, then She surprised me by pushing it all in my direction. “Take what you want but remember, that’s special lace you got there. You come out with something made with it for your first baby and you might find yourself having to answer some awkward questions.”

Gran stopped for a drink; all that talking was thirsty work.

“Which is why I kept It so long,” she continued, “and I’might never have done anything with it but times have changed, it is 1927 after all. And when I saw that cutting in the paper about miss Emily s grand daughter expecting, then mum told me about Vi having another baby, I said to myself, why not?”

Never in all my years have I heard gran talk for so long: I sat through it with my mouth hanging open I was that impressed. Fred sat through it with that thoughtful look he has when he s not quite sure. Mum who knew all about this, just sat there in admiring silence.

“So what happens now?” I asked.

“Vi will have a fine christening gown for her Easter baby,” said gran. And that was that.

Young Annie was born on Easter Sunday and a few days later, gran sent mum another cutting announcing the birth of a daughter to the Hon Nicholas Owens and his wife Susan. The announcement went on to say that the christening would be at Emberly Court, in Devonshire where Susan s grandmother, Lady Emily Featherstone, was currently in residence.

Annie’s christening was planned for the first of May but gran kept saying she wasn’t well enough to travel and we had to wait another three weeks until she suddenly said she was fine.

It went off quite well, though, except gran made a right nuisance of herself arranging us here, there, and all over the place; just for a family photograph. But when it came back from the chemist it looked so professional we all wanted one. We even volunteered the cost of the enlargement.

So there we were for posterity, all looking very proper with the men arranged just so and the ladies arranged just so and Vi seated in the middle with young Annie asleep on her lap.
Annie looked quite sweet but it was the christening gown that caught the eye. Such lovely lace and such a lot of it that it almost touched the floor, the skirt was that long.

Gran wasn’t finished though; She still had something up her sleeve. Next time she came over she called a family conference. When we were all assembled, it was Sunday so everyone was at home, she put the photo of Vi and young Annie on the table then unfolded a newspaper cutting that she smoothed out and laid beside the photo.

It showed the family gathering after the christening of Emily Owens, named for her great grandmother Lady Featherstone. It also stated that the lovely Honiton lace christening gown seen in the picture was made from the wedding veil worn by Lady Featherstone’s mother.

There they were for posterity, all looking very proper with the men arranged just so and the ladies arranged just so and the young mother seated in the middle with her daughter asleep on her lap.

The baby looked quite sweet but it was the christening gown that caught the eye; such lovely lace and such a lot of it that it almost touched the floor, the skirt was that long.

I looked at Fred and he looked back at me. Now we knew why gran had delayed the christening; she wasn’t sick, She’d been waiting for the society picture to get into the newspaper. Which was also why she had made such a nuisance of herself when we had our photo taken; she wanted to arrange us like the society picture.

The others? Bill looked puzzled, but mum just stood there; She’d known all along what it was about. And Vi was too busy admiring the way young Annie looked to think of anything else.

We waited for gran to speak.

“I always said,” she gave a thin, satisfied smile, “we were as good as them any day.”

Then she saw the time, forgot about the pictures and demanded to know what happened to the tea?